The Woman at the Docks (Grassi Framily)

And I wanted her to have all the ingredients she needed to make her favorite foods.

I wanted her to have the kinds of clothes she would pick out for herself, but in better quality.

And I found a certain amount of satisfaction in that. The same kind I would get from making a huge business deal for the family. The kind I never felt outside of work, come to think of it.

Romy had come from very humble beginnings, never knew a life that didn't have financial stress. Sure, she found a good job for herself, but she lived in an expensive area, was always trying to find new ways to budget.

It felt good to pamper her just a little bit, to see her eyes go big when she saw a brand name on a bag or package, to give her a taste of the luxury I'd been born into, and then busted my ass to build upon.

I liked what we had going.

I liked it enough that in quiet moments between work meetings and in the seconds before sleep, a deep, unfamiliar, crippling fear overtook me. I had lived a dangerous life. I had needed to bloody my hands. I had needed to defend our family's honor, to fight off enemies. Not much scared me.

But the thought of finding Romy's sister, and then having her leave and go back to California? Yeah, that made me feel a fear like I'd never known before.

Most people don't necessarily recognize the moment that they lost their happiness. But I knew I would know mine.

The day I would have to say goodbye to her.

I almost wished I was selfish enough to call off the search for Celenia.

Just to buy myself time.

But I wasn't that kind of monster.

I couldn't do that to Celenia or to Romy.

So I kept on the search, and I enjoyed every spare moment I could catch with Romy.

Just when I finished making Romy's cup of coffee, my phone started ringing.

And at five-forty-five in the morning, no phone call could be good.

I reached for it, throat a little tight, seeing Lucky's number.

"You need to get down here," Lucky's voice clipped before I could even say hello. "Now," he added, hanging up.

Every instinct was to run.

But I took one extra minute to scribble Romy a note, leaving her coffee on the nightstand in case she woke up.

Then I threw on clothes, and was on my way across town. He hadn't said so, but I knew where he was. The docks. And I had an idea what might be so pressing.

A container full of women.

When I got there, my father was standing beside my brother, both of their faces grim.

"We already called the police," my father said, tone tight.

As a rule, you didn't call law enforcement when you were involved in criminal activities. You didn't invite them onto your property where illegal things happened daily.

"Where's the container?"I asked, looking at Lucky who gave me a nod, a silent request to follow him.

"If we ever find Romy, I owe her a fucking apology," he said, having the decency to sound like he genuinely meant that, to be remorseful for making an innocent woman flee for her life.

It was inappropriate to think about it, but I was hoping Romy would be around to give Lucky and Matteo all the shit we both knew they deserved.

"Are they all alive?" I asked, having done some research about people who came in via the crude transport of shipping containers. And aside from them being absolutely disgusting because dozens of people in an enclosed space for days or weeks still had bodily needs, there was also the fact that only about fifty to seventy percent of the people inside made it due to heat or cold or illness that spread fast in a small, mostly airless space.